DEVINN WOULD HAVE PREFERRED that all of them suffered the effects of the concussion grenade; he settled for the FBI agent preoccupied with Emily Chang as his only immediate threat. He ducked into a crouched run from the front door of Thackeray’s house and dodged, bush to tree, across the front yard. Chang and the man disappeared around the garage.
It took him less than ten minutes, cutting through neighboring properties, to circle back to the bicycle stowed behind a pile of firewood a half-mile away. Twice he had to ditch behind trees alongside the road, first to avoid a man on foot, the second a suddenly approaching car with its headlights extinguished.
Five minutes of feverish pedaling were surprisingly free of incident. He paused to dial his cellular phone only when behind the wheel of his car, which he had parked on the opposite side of town in a used car lot.
The voice at the other end of the connection did not convey joy at being woken. Devinn briefly explained the situation.
Lee swore under his breath.
“The connection is cut, and I know we busted up at least one of the terminals.”
“This was a precise schedule they seemed to be working to?” Lee asked.
“No doubt about it. They kept looking at this computer timer.”
“Timer? What time did it run out to?”
Devinn tried to recall. “15:31 Zulu...? I know it was today, because the date—”
“That’s 10:31 eastern standard time. Are you sure it didn’t say 16:31 Zulu?”
“I’m sure.”
“No chance maybe some glare on the screen, or you mixed up—”
“Did I stutter? 15:31 Zulu!”
“All right...your latest fuck-up is a real problem. Here’s the deal. They have to be stopped—you have to stop them. You’ve got to get inside CLI in order to stop them.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“Look. Just take care of the situation at CLI, and then you can lay low for awhile, even out of the country.”
“I’m not big on laying low. That was the whole idea of my death up in Canada.”
Silence on the phone. “Zurich, Gibraltar, Hong Kong.”
“What?”
“I’ll seize your accounts before you’ve even had a chance to contact your lawyer—I mean that literally.”
“If anything happens to me, letters go out.”
“Fair enough. Now, I can tell you the security system at CLI is sophisticated...”
113
THE CABINET STRATEGY SESSION was adjourned and, just after seven A.M. Washington and two P.M. Tehran local times, the various telecommunications arrangements were completed. It was agreed the U.S. side would lead the opening statements.
The Secretary of State began from his notes. “I would first like to assure the Supreme Spiritual Leader, and those of you assembled, that the United States does not actively harbor ill-will toward either your government or the people of Iran. As President Denis stated three days ago, our military action, though regrettable, was intended to achieve reciprocity for the acts of terrorism on America. Despite the repeated unprovoked slaughter of Americans, and as demonstration of our ongoing reverence for human rights, this we sought to achieve with minimal loss of Iranian civilian or military lives. Now, we’ve appealed for Iran’s leaders to condemn terrorist violence, to provide information that would assist in delivering justice to its perpetrators, and to pursue policies for further disbanding terrorist organizations. It is our intention to pursue these just goals.
“However, we are gravely concerned. We are concerned that our plea falls on deaf ears and that there will continue to be loss of life on both sides. Iran’s mobilization of forces along its northern border threatens not just the escalation of conflict with the United States, but also instability in a region of vital interest to all nations. We urge that the Iranian leadership reconsider its current positions on these issues so that the United States can peaceably withdraw its forces.”
For twenty seconds or so it sounded as if the connection was lost. “Yes, Mr. Secretary,” came the accented reply of the foreign minister. “We in the Islamic Republic of Iran share your concern. Your first objectionable act was to effectively blockade our vital shipping lanes, conducted unlawfully and without consent of the United Nations Security Council. By any legal standard this is an act of war.”
“We do not seek war,” President Denis firmly disagreed. “We responded measuredly and only after obtaining evidence that Iran was acting outside the missile technology protocol. Secretary Laynas presented that evidence to the Security Council.”
“Please, may I complete our opening statement?”
Denis received an anxious stare from his secretary of state.
“Thank you. We would like later to address this apparent distinction you make between how you act with what you seek. It is a source of confusion to us. Now then, as we have repeatedly insisted, the Islamic Republic has no knowledge whatsoever of who orchestrated these alleged terrorist attacks against you. We have sought your permission to meet the Iranian nationals, spies you say, who stand accused of these acts. Individuals held without due process availed to American citizens, and in violation of international standards. Our requests are denied out of hand. We can only presume these men stand unjustly accused. Without provocation your response is then to attack and destroy the very heart of our commerce. We seek justice, you say? We do not seek war, you say? To all Believers it is clear that what you seek is war against Islam. The justice you seek is not God’s Justice.”
Glances exchanged inside the Oval Office ranged from mild concern to visibly rattled. Denis pointed his finger at himself; the Secretary of State nodded concurrence.
“The United States no more seeks war against Islam than Islam seeks war against Christians and Jews—or so I’d have thought before your OPEC exploits of recent years,” Denis rebutted, confident his allusion to the Tehran-brokered oil embargo had scored the appropriate tactical point. “The facts are that both our countries value citizens of all religious denominations. Our first move in a war of the sort you accuse us of waging would be to expel all Muslims, would it not?”
“Mr. President, as you and I know there are Muslims, and then there are Muslims. Superficial sleight of hand does not advance the spirit of our dialogue. The United States has been fighting a proxy war through Israel against Islam for generations. If moral justice is truly your objective, then join the world in demanding Israel’s withdrawal from illegally occupied territories.”
“Why don’t we—let’s shift our focus,” Laynas quickly suggested. The risk was clear that the teleconference for which he had lobbied both sides might nudge relations backward rather than forward. “What gesture by the United States would Iran consider appropriate for reducing tensions?”
An extended silence. “ ‘Gesture?’ There is no ‘gesture’ worthy of serious consideration, but since you ask, I would start by suggesting America stop the assault on our culture by your export of decadence and immorality in your television and entertainment media. Of course, your attack on our country and our economy brought the destruction of our navy frigates and caused hundreds of our personnel to be martyred. And while you offer a gesture, we demand reparations. Eighteen billion US dollars would only begin to address...”
The President folded his arms and drew back into his chair. Walter Laynas held up his hand urging restraint.
“...and the cessation of your illegal blockade in the Strait of Hormuz, by complete and permanent recall of all Western military from their occupation of Persian Gulf territories in the Middle East. Finally, the United States will endorse UN Resolution 242, consistent with pre-1967 boundaries and the extraction of all Zionist settlements forthwith—this, you will note, is a concession on our part.”
“It is Iranian mercenaries who have invaded the United States,” Denis countered, openly angry if not quite on the verge of losing it altogether. “Will Iran agree to compensate the hundreds of American families whose innocent loved on
es have been murdered?”
“Ah, mercenaries, yes. We are not blind, Mr. President. It is with lying Zionist Jews that you plot to defraud and defeat the honor of Islam!”
“Plot? You censor the newswires, so you would know that the two Iranian intelligence operatives were captured red-handed.”
“We must not overlook that the murder of our Washington diplomat was never satisfactorily resolved.”
“We must not overlook that the cowards responsible for killing hundreds in San Francisco remain at large. As you prepare to invade Azerbaijan, you dare to accuse us of invasion? The United States has a demand of our own: Iran must refrain from invasion of Azerbaijan, and for that matter any of its neighbors. We will not idly stand by.”
“This is a threat?”
“It’s your prerogative to interpret my statement however you wish,” Denis confirmed without hesitation. State Secretary Laynas shook his head disapprovingly.
“Then know this, Mr. President. Any attempt to obstruct the Islamic Republic’s efforts to repair the economic damage inflicted upon us by your imperialist aggression will be met...will be met with annihilation.”
“That’s a bluff.”
“As you wish.”
“Iran had better wish for no more terrorist attacks on the United States. That, sir, is definitely not a bluff.”
MINUTES AFTER THE TELECONFERENCE ended on that diplomatic note, the chief of staff accompanied a notably pallid secretary of state and his deputy in gathering up briefing materials and wordlessly departing the Oval Office.
National Security Advisor Herman sat alone with the President. At 8:42 in the morning, each had already put in the equivalent of an eight-hour day.
Denis said, “If I didn’t know better, I might suspect the CIA of sitting on proof of Iran’s nuclear test until the most inopportune moment for my presidency.”
Herman mulled over the President’s speculation. “I think we succeeded in sufficiently tainting the standing of our intelligence chief in the eyes of the cabinet. Word will get around.” Herman noted the President’s expression. “We have no choice but to let this play out.”
“You don’t suppose there’s a strategy behind the timing in all of this?”
“A strategy...?” Herman screwed his face into a confused scowl. “You mean, us finding ourselves caught-up short on Iranian nukes without missile defense?”
Denis issued a concurring grunt.
After a moment, Herman rose and shuffled toward the fireplace where he stood, head hung low and deep in thought, beneath the President’s inquisitive stare.
Herman looked up. “You’re suggesting a concerted effort to subvert your authority, by misleading you, at a time of crisis?”
“What better time is there?”
The national security advisor shook his head. “That would be one helluva conspiracy. Considering the convoluted way we in which we got here, I don’t see how. The folks who flock to the minority party are so tediously linear. And they’re really not all that clever.”
“Huh...I suppose you’re right. Well, I better hit the john before the Pentagon circus arrives.”
114
“EXACTLY HOW FIRSTHAND do you mean?” McBurney asked the naval intelligence officer aboard the Aegis radar cruiser USS Cowpens.
“Well, it might as well have been right in front of me. We were wrapping up shore-leave in Yokosuka. I was standing out on the fantail. I’d describe this as an irradiated...no, that’s not right. It was more like fluorescence, with a thunderclap. Even shook the deck some.”
“An explosion?” McBurney waited breathlessly as he gripped the phone.
“No. An explosion liberates material. There was no liberation such that anyone could tell. This sound was more like two hands smacking together, certainly louder but without the heavy concussion wave of an explosion.”
“Were there any aircraft in the vicinity? Anything suspicious in the harbor?”
“Uh, there’s the two big Tokyo airports. But look, whatever it was, it struck Cowpens completely without warning and left absolutely no calling card. All I can tell you is, if anybody has a clue as to where to begin looking, they aren’t telling me. How about a stealth aircraft, maybe one we don’t know about?”
“Perhaps,” McBurney chose to admit.
“Really?”
“On a very, very long shot.”
“Huh. I’ve received enemy fire before, but how an aircraft would’ve done this is beyond me. There’s a cavern where the entire fixed array used to be. Whatever munitions were used, this was absolutely surgical.”
IN THE UNITED STATES, investigators lamented a similar lack of evidence suggesting that the current crop of terrorists were in any way using aircraft to deliver their deadly munitions. The Department of Homeland Security decided anyway to suspend international air travel to and from the contiguous United States. Bureaucratic fiat inevitably allowed for exceptions, and so it was with the Denis administration’s summons for their China specialist, Samuel McBurney. The harried and exhausted assistant U.S. attorney assigned to the task finally approved the request upon returning to his office shortly before 7:00 o’clock Sunday morning.
Days after embarking on what he expected to be a fourteen-hour journey, McBurney invited the stares of other weary, impatient, and dank-smelling travelers inside the Ambassador’s Club lounge by gathering his small entourage in order to leave. Their private flight from Toronto would deliver them to Washington Dulles in a little over an hour. They became airborne at 8:22 A.M. Monday morning.
Stuart watched the Toronto cityscape recede beneath the wing of what, for this final leg of the trip, was a Cessna Citation. He was convinced that events had conspired to make their scheme to hijack the Chinese satellite all but impossible. With the clock ticking down, it appeared that even presidential grease on the skids for returning to the country would not be enough. Thackeray’s telephone was apparently out of service, and he could only guess how long Emily and Thack needed to complete preparations. With respect to the dilemma of Emily retrieving her e-mail, he had no idea how to factor the time needed to enter a facility cordoned off by federal marshals. A couple of minutes? Hours? Was Perry going to be in the mood to offer help, or hindrance? That his partner was apparently not taking calls was not a good indication.
“There’s still a ground stop in effect,” Carolyn Ross replied in response to Stuart’s latest idea for addressing the problem. “I don’t think the Richmond airport’s re-opened yet. Even flights into Dulles are only with special permission, dignitaries stuck overseas, that sort of thing.”
“Unfortunately, our scheduled arrival time does not allow a drive all the way down from Dulles,” Stuart said to McBurney, who had not indicated that he might even dignify the suggestion. “It might make sense that we try to arrive at CLI no later than nine-thirty or so.”
“It might,” McBurney replied, “but it doesn’t. What’s this ‘we’ business?”
Stuart worked his jaw. “I had hoped you were onboard to help avert another attack.”
For a moment—Stuart held his breath—McBurney appeared to be wavering. “I’m afraid I’m penciled in for another engagement.”
Stuart smacked his forehead with his palm. “Oh, yeah, the President—how could I forget. Maybe that’s good. You can explain for him how despite the opportunity you had to avert instigating war with the wrong fucking country, you decided it might be better to be sitting there to advise him about it rather than out doing something to prevent it from happening. I’m sure he’ll give you an appreciative little pat on the head for that.”
While his sullen hosts stared down at Lake Erie, Stuart wondered angrily if there was a way he could hijack the airplane. It was another lesson that the Washington Game did not entail logic, as Perry always liked to remind him. The consequences of his desire to remain ignorant of the skills needed to play the game could not be more bitterly clear. Stuart balled his fists—his personal failure was about to cost a lot more people
their lives.
115
DEPUTY MINISTER OF STATE SECURITY Chen Ruihan saw events of the day building toward an unpleasant conclusion. An hour earlier he received news by way of the ministry’s deep Washington source that, not only had a minor operative been apprehended by the FBI for questioning, but also a principal agent had narrowly evaded arrest—a veteran agent, with more than the normal vertical operational knowledge. As it now stood, Vice-Chairman Rong’s pressing objective remained unfulfilled. And now the low quality surveillance report in his hands was being blamed on weather, specifically the poor performance of a directional microphone during last evening’s rainstorm.
“The recording required additional time to process,” the intelligence officer explained the delay. She examined her superior’s face. “I know the product is of unacceptable—”
“After the park, they returned to Commissioner Deng’s residence?” asked Chen.
“They did.”
“And you’ve analyzed their subsequent conversation?”
“There was no further discussion between father and son.”
The question was whether circumstances of the suspicious activity sufficiently coincided with other developments to suggest their connection. Tonight, all eight members of the Standing Committee had been invited to observe a live demonstration of the new People’s Satellite Control Center. Rong was naturally looking to the technology commissioner to coordinate the event. So, was the old cadre caught up in some plot of cutthroat succession politics? Pro-democracy reactionaries such as his son might easily be party to such a plot, although the brand of high treason displayed by Deng in Tokyo would seem to share little in practice with pro-democracy hooliganism.
Chen’s professional instinct forced him to consider an even more heinous conspiracy theory. He perused the grainy, high-speed photographs, the envelope plainly visible in the commissioner’s hand. In the acoustic intercepts, which the transcript revealed to be sparse and largely unintelligible, two phrases spoken by the old cadre stood out: ...destroyed should you be caught, and further down the page, amid signs of discord: How else can you expect me to help you?
Razing Beijing: A Thriller Page 68